The Human Adventure 2: What Can Be Done
by Tim Burns
Summary: The second episode in the saga of an average Starfleet officer, experiencing the highs and lows of Starfleet routine.
1. Chapter 1

**STAR TREK**

**The Human Adventure #2:**

"**What Can Be Done"**

Relative Date: Between **Friday's Child **and **Who Mourns for Adonais? **(2267). _This placement is only for people like me who need to know exactly where any story happens on the timeline; neither of those episodes have any particular relevance to this story._

* * *

"No, no, you've got your hands completely wrong," Lee Komura said, moving in to show Ricky how to properly set himself for combat.

"Can't say I'm surprised," Ricky said dismally. "It certainly won't be the first time."

"You're not a natural athlete," Lee responded, somehow managing to say it without it quite sounding like an insult. "Why'd you ever get into the Security division?"

"The janitorial service wouldn't have me," Ricky said sarcastically as he tried to assume the stance Lee had attempted to show him. His sparring partner was Lorin Chiske, an engineering officer from Rigel. Lee had chosen Chiske specifically due to his Rigellian physique; he was intent on proving that Ricky could take on an opponent of any degree of strength with the Komura method. Since they were only sparring, Chiske had generously agreed to wear protective gloves over his clawed hands, but nothing was protecting Ricky from the beak. As soon as Ricky was set, Chiske made his move, coming in low and grabbing Ricky around the waist. In a normal fight, Lee's training would call for Ricky to knee Chiske in the face, but that would be full-contact sparring, and Ricky didn't feel like going to Sickbay just then, even if Dr. Bick could heal any such minor injuries fairly immediately. So instead, Ricky dropped backwards and tried to leverage Chiske to fall behind his head. It mostly worked, but Chiske recovered, and ended up landing with his side in Ricky's face.

Ricky rolled away as gracefully as he could, and scrambled up, but Chiske was up just as quickly. Chiske didn't come at him as quickly this time, so Ricky made his move. He rushed forward, and Chiske's arms thrust out, trying to grab him. Ricky angled to the right, grabbing Chiske's left arm, and pulling him forward. Holding onto his left arm, Ricky twisted it around Chiske's back, and then managed to get a hold of his other arm as well. In this position, the finishing move would've been for Ricky to bring his leg up and fold Chiske's knees out from under him, but just as Ricky was doing so, Chiske leaned back with his entire body weight.

A more athletic man would've probably been able to avoid it, but Ricky was too slow. Chiske fell back onto him, and Ricky slammed into the exercise mat, wondering if that was what a concussion felt like.

"Hey!" Lee said, jumping in to help Chiske to his feet so that he wouldn't be on top of Ricky anymore, "you okay, Man?" He asked, as Ricky blinked in momentary confusion.

"Yeah," Ricky said weakly. "Fine."

"That was the right move," Lee said, as he helped Ricky get to his feet, "But when you do it, you've got to do the whole thing all at once, so that your opponent can't do...exactly what he just did."  
"I'm sure I'll remember that now," Ricky said, as Chiske grabbed a towel and waved goodbye.

"Hey, thanks for sparring!" Lee said, as Chiske headed out. "Two weeks, we'll do full contact!"

"What?!" Ricky blurted, aghast. "Do I _look_ like I'm prepared for that?"

"Don't worry about it," Lee replied casually. "Full contact doesn't necessarily mean full strength. He'll go easy on you." Lee took a ready stance. "Come on, let's do some forms."

"So where'd you learn this stuff?" Ricky asked as he tried to imitate Lee's movements. He had asked the question before, but wasn't satisfied with the answer.

"My family," Lee said, as he had said the last time.

This time Ricky didn't accept that. "How'd it come into your family?" Ricky asked, struggling to keep up with Lee's practiced movement. "It's not something they just invented, is it?"

"It's been passed down for many generations," Lee answered, his voice a little more serious than usual. "Like, _way_ back in the day. We've never really dug that deep into our specific family history, but I'll bet you that somewhere in the old days, there was a shogun or famous samurai in my family. This martial discipline came from that time, and people in my family are very serious about making sure that it's not forgotten." Lee stopped, and began toweling off the very small amount of sweat that he had developed in the short exercise. "I don't know; the whole 'United Earth' thing is good, for sure, but I think a lot of cultural diversity was lost. Maybe it wasn't just the UE; time does it, too, I guess." Ricky nodded, a bit surprised at how his usually shallow roommate was expressing himself. "This is just one of the ways we try to remember our heritage. Plus, as far as martial arts go, this kinda takes the best of everything, and improves on it, at least in my opinion. Once you learn the Komura style, that's all you need to know." Lee tossed the towel away. "Hey, my shift's gonna start soon."

"I guess I'll be getting some dinner," Ricky said.

"You made some good progress," Lee said, "See you around."

"See you later," Ricky said, as the two young men left the gym and headed in separate directions. Ricky went into the mess hall, and was happy to see Shelly Shepherd just sitting down to eat. After ordering, Ricky grabbed his tray and went to her table.

"Hey," he said, "You mind if I sit here?"

"No, go ahead," pulling some of her stuff away from what would be his side of the table.

He sat down with a sigh of relief, not realizing how tired and sore he was until now.

"How are you?" Shelly asked politely.

"Tired," Ricky replied, pausing for a moment before he started eating. "My roommate's been trying to teach me his family's semi-secret martial art. He's a good teacher; I guess I am learning some things, but it's pretty brutal on the joints."

Shelly laughed. "Sounds like fun."

"How about you?" Ricky asked. "You adjusting okay to life on a space ship?"

Shelly nodded. "It's boring, but that's alright. I don't think I could do it forever, though."

"What do you want to do?" Ricky asked. "I mean, you know, long-term."  
"I want to be a diplomat. Go to alien worlds and try to find ways to improve our relationships with them."

"If you don't mind my asking," Ricky said slowly, "Why didn't you just join the diplomatic corps?"  
"It's not as easy to get in as you might think," Shelly responded, "They didn't have any openings when I applied, but a lot of communications officers work their way up to the diplomatic corp. So, here I am...at a science station."

"Ah, you'll get there," Ricky told her, and then his voice lowered slightly as he remembered a more exciting topic of conversation. "So, what about that red alert last week?"

"Yeah," Shelly said, smirking. "I think the Captain just called the red alert to see how everyone handled it. From what I heard, it was just a speeding ticket."

Ricky nodded in acknowledgement. Speeding tickets had been taken out of the Earth justice system many years ago, but it was still enough a part of the cultural memory that Ricky understood what she was saying. "You think we'll ever fire our phaser?" He asked, laughing.

"Probably," Shelly said, chuckling a little. "We'll probably get into a fight because I can't tell the difference between an enemy vessel and space debris."

"Ah, that's not true," Ricky said seriously. "There are a lot of these Dover-class ships patrolling the inner areas of Federation space, and they've all got officers doubling up on science and communications. I'm sure they're used to people who aren't experts. Besides, as long as you don't have to do planetary surveys and things like that, it's practically just reading a monitor."

"Yeah," Shelly responded, "But I still prefer listening to a monitor. So, have you ever done science?"

"Yeah, I studied it for a while at the Academy, along with everything else. It just didn't really suit me, though."

Shelly looked at Ricky; he was average height, with a build that was very slim for a guy. "And security does?" She asked, half-joking.

"Touché."


	2. Chapter 2

"Sophie," Commander Flores said, leaning on his fist as he sat in his command chair, "That blue and purple planet looks a bit familiar. Are you sure we haven't passed this system already?" Sophie Hughes, the helmsman/navigator, tossed her long black hair as she turned back to glare, with ostensible good humor, at the Captain. "Duty fatigue is nothing to be ashamed of," the Captain continued, smiling, "You do work a long shift." Hughes was a relentless overachiever who always worked the entirety of Alpha-shift, and half of Beta. Ricky, who was standing at the door watching the whole thing, had no idea why she wasn't more successful in her Starfleet career with a work ethic like that.

"My course navigations are recorded," Sophie said, "and I can assure you that we're not going around in circles, unless space has folded in on itself. But," she added, with mischief in her dark eyes, "If you're worried about the length of my shifts, let me have your job. You seem to have plenty of downtime."

"See to your board, Helmsman!" The Captain said, mock consternation in his voice.

At his post in front of the turbolift door, Ricky carefully controlled an amused smile. The attitude on Starfleet ships, especially the smaller ones, was often deliberately light to ease the boredom of routine patrol duty. Even so, audible laughter would hardly be appropriate.

"Two ships orbiting this planet, Sir," Shelly reported. "Neither is showing weapons, both are registered."

"Very well," the Captain said. "Helm, proceed to the next planet."

The process continued into another system, with no excitement as usual.

"Permission to be excused, Captain," Ricky said. The security officer on duty was not expected to stand at watch during the entirety of his shift. Rather, he was simply required to always be available; not eating, sleeping or recreating. Aside from that, he was free to wander the ship, but when already on the bridge, it was proper protocol to ask for permission to leave.

"Granted," Commander Flores responded, and Ricky turned to leave. Just as the turbolift opened, however, he heard Shelly stifle an exclamation of surprise.

"Science officer?" The Captain asked, turning only slightly.

"A distress call, Sir!" Shelly replied. "Low priority, coming from a cargo ship," she said, glancing at her science viewer, "ahead and to starboard."

"Federation?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Put it through," the Captain said.

"Starfleet vessel," a voice said, "this is the cargo tug _Vieux Carre_. We've experienced an engine malfunction and are now unable to move."

"What kind of engine failure?" The Captain asked.

"Minor mechanical breakdown," came the reply. "Our engines were old, and we asked too much of them. But we're carrying important medicine that needs to get to its destination as quickly as possible."

"Where is your destination?"

"Shauemet, the fifth planet in this system. There's a plague there, and we went out to get more medicine from a nearby planet. But I drove the ship too hard, and now we're dead in space."

"I understand," the Captain responded, gesturing to Sophie, who was waiting for the signal to alter course. "We're on our way, and we'll do what we can to get you back on your way. In the meantime, please transmit your identification to our communications officer."

"Of course; and thank you. _Vieux Carre _out."

"He's sent his identification, Captain," Shelly said after a moment. His name's Rollin Clay; planet of residence is Shauemet, and he owns the cargo vessel _Vieux Carre_."

"What information do we have of the plague on Shauemet?"

Shelly made a cursory scan of subspace communications from Shauemet on public channels, as well as the news services. "It appears to be a minor strain of Correllium fever. It hasn't even spread to a third of the populated areas of the planet. It should be easily treatable by basic medicating and quarantining, and also vaccinating the unaffected people."

"What aid has Starfleet provided?" Commander Flores asked.

"Due to the minor nature of the problem," Shelly said, reading from a report filed by a Starfleet Personnel head, "The Federation will provide all available medicine, for treatment and vaccination, but the situation does not warrant reallocation of Starfleet personnel unless the situation deteriorates." Shelly cross-referenced the report with the news services. "It looks like a fair number of civilian volunteers came to help, though. And there's every indication that the plague should be pretty well curbed within the month."

The Captain nodded, and Ricky silently pondered the statement. He had no idea how little or much damage Correllium fever could do in a month.

"I've got the ship on short range scanners now, Sir," Shelly reported, about the same time that Lieutenant Hendricks, the First Officer, arrived on the bridge.

"Is it small enough to fit in the hanger bay?" The Captain asked.

"I...believe so, Sir," Shelly said hesitantly. The Captain sighed, and Lt. Hendricks patiently reminded her of the maximum specifications for a ship to fit in a Dover-class hanger bay. Shelly checked her science viewer again, and then replied, somewhat more confidently, that it would fit.

"Very well," the Captain said, "Sound a yellow alert, and give me intraship."

"Intraship aye, Sir," Shelly replied.

"This is the Captain," Commander Flores began, "We are preparing to take a cargo ship into our shuttlebay; the ship's owner has been positively identified, and we don't expect any trouble. Even so, all active security and utility personnel will now report to the shuttlebay."

'Active personnel,' in this context, was a professional way of saying any crew member that was awake. While it was likely that one of the ship's three security officers would be asleep at any given time, the ship was also staffed with a number of utility crewmen that were expected to augment the ranks of whatever department had the need—in this case, security.

His message concluded, the Captain turned again to Ensign Shepherd at the science station. "Open a channel to the _Vieux Carre_. Lt. Hendricks will instruct Mr. Clay in proper docking procedure," the Captain said as he stood up and moved toward the turbolift, "Mr. Bateman, please accompany me to the hanger bay."


	3. Chapter 3

Ricky and the Captain watched through the starboard observation window as the small cargo vessel entered the _Capistrano's _shuttlebay. The _Vieux Carre_ wasn't a cargo ship in the same sense as a Ptolemy-class ship, which was equipped with a large pod, itself bigger than a Dover-class ship. The ship that was now entering the shuttlebay was a small personal vessel, not much bigger than a Starfleet shuttlecraft, which was constructed and furnished to devote more space to cargo than to people, and their comfort.

After the shuttlebay doors were closed and secured, the security team entered the bay behind the Captain. Along with Lee Komura, who looked very pleased to be awake for the dubious excitement, Weston, Williams, and Cabott had also come. Each of them had type-1 phasers clipped to their belts, but as they entered, the Captain instructed them not to even touch them unless he gave the order.

Three people came out of the small ship; a middle-aged man and woman, and a younger man.

"I'm Rollin Clay," the middle-aged man said, after the Captain had introduced himself. "This is my wife, Patrice, and my son, Donald."

"Pleasure to have you aboard, Mr. Clay," the Captain said. "I hope you'll forgive the security detail. It's a routine precaution, of course. Are you carrying any weapons?"

"No," Clay replied.

"Fine," the Captain replied. "If you'd like, I can show you to the guest quarters, or I can send for the Chief Engineer immediately to see if there are any repairs he can make to your ship."

Clay looked at his wife and son, and the tiredness in their faces gave him his answer without their having to speak. "It's been a long day, Captain," Clay said. "I think rest would be just the thing right now."

"Very well, if you'll come with me," the Captain said, leading the family to the shuttlebay entrance. "Komura and Bateman, please join me. The rest of you are dismissed."

* * *

Donald Clay looked at the food slot closely, thinking. "Chicken and rice," he said finally. Ricky input the necessary information, narrating the process as he went. When his food appeared, Donald took the tray and followed Ricky to a table.

Lt. Hendricks had somewhat arbitrarily assigned Ricky the task of showing Donald around and showing him how certain shipboard functions worked. Donald was only slightly younger than Ricky, and though he wasn't the most upbeat person, Ricky had developed a rapport with the young man.  
Donald began eating, and then stopped. Ricky could see that he was agitated.

"Is something wrong?" Ricky asked.

Donald began to speak, and then hesitated. "I don't think I want to go back," he said slowly. "I almost wish you hadn't picked us up. It would've taken us much longer to get to Shauemet on our own steam."

"Why don't you want to go back?" Ricky asked.  
"I was born there," Donald said, "I grew up there. But now it's not . . . right. Only a little bit of the planet is populated; there just aren't a lot of us there. Some of my friends that I've had since I was a kid have died, and . . . it just feels like . . . I don't know."

"I'm sorry," Ricky said, "I can't imagine what that would be like."

"Shauemet is my home," Donald said, "And I'll probably always think of it like that, but the place has changed—permanently. I kinda feel like it's just time to start over."

"Are there a lot of other people that feel the same way?" Ricky asked.

"Yeah, some people did leave when the plague started, before the quarantine was implemented. I doubt they'll come back. Some of the people like us, who were cleared from quarantine to go out for supplies, probably won't be coming back. And there are plenty of people that have talked about making a fresh start after the quarantine lifts."

"So, there'll be a lot fewer people when the dust clears, huh?" Ricky asked.

"Yeah."

Ricky shook his head, considering his words. "I certainly don't have any special insight, and it's probably not really my place to talk, but I think your home, the whole area, is gonna be a lot different when this is all over. Maybe there's plenty of room for you to start fresh, on Shauemet. I think if the society there is going to bounce back from this, they're gonna need every able body they can get."


	4. Chapter 4

A meeting had been called in the recreation hall, the best place on the ship for all twenty-two crewmembers to gather. The ship was now in orbit around Shauemet, and a landing party had conducted a brief planetary survey to assess the current situation of the progress in combating the plague.

"I've contacted Starfleet Command," Commander Flores began, "and given them my report on the planet's current condition. Based on what I saw in our survey, I felt that there was a need for Starfleet assistance. Command disagreed with my assessment, but since we're already here, they have given us permission to stay for one week. Therefore, for the next seven days, we will provide what help we can. Most of us will be aiding the medical staffs, applying vaccinations and the like. The security officers and two utility crewmen, however, will augment the guard of their quarantine area. Lt. Hendricks and two other officers will maintain the ship." So it was that Ricky found himself standing in front of the door of a vast, open building that had been converted into a center for quarantined fever patients. Ricky considered himself fortunate that he had been assigned to one of the buildings for recovering patients. He didn't have the strongest stomach, and wasn't terribly comfortable at seeing hordes of patients suffering from disease, even if they were being treated. Most of the patients here were veritably free of symptoms, although Ricky still had to wear an environmental suit.

The work was largely uninteresting, and Ricky struggled with the feeling that he was accomplishing very little. It wasn't until his third day on duty that someone attempted to break the quarantine.

Ricky looked up in bewilderment as a middle-aged man moved steadily toward him, determination and maybe a little anger on his face.

"Can I . . . help you?" Ricky asked uncertainly. He hadn't expected to be in this situation, and so he hadn't thought about how he would handle it.

"I need to leave," the man said resolutely.

"You can't leave, Sir," Ricky replied, "Until the doctors have determined that the fever is completely eradicated from your system." Ricky had heard someone with better medical knowledge explain it that way, but it did nothing to dissuade the man.

"I feel fine," he said.

"You can't leave," Ricky repeated, not sure what else to do.

"Look, kid," the man said, taking a step forward. "Somehow I doubt you have any family of your own. But I have three kids, including a newborn girl, whose mother has to take care of them all alone because those quack doctors are keeping me here!" Ricky realized then that the man wasn't going to listen to reason, and for a moment considered drawing his phaser. The man stepped forward again, threateningly. "Now, I told you, I feel fine, and I'm going to leave even if I have to go through you!" Suddenly, forcefully, the patient launched himself at Ricky, trying to push him out of the way, but Ricky grabbed him in a bear hug and held on as best he could.

In the moment, what training Lee had provided left him, and it almost seemed as if the man would overpower Ricky until two of the nurses came to his relief, giving the patient a sedative.

"No!" The man protested, struggling against the nurses, "I don't need to sleep! I need to get out! To . . . see . . . my family . . ."

* * *

The week seemed to pass in a blur, and before he knew it, Ricky was taking off his environmental suit for the last time on this mission, and was waiting in the recreation hall for a final address from the Captain.

"That was crazy," Lee said as he, Ricky, and Shelly stood with a couple other crewmen, discussing the past week. "I can't say I've ever experienced a plague before."

"I know," Shelly said, "I felt like there was so much more we could've done."

"I'm sure there was," Ricky said, only now hearing about what the other crewmen had done on the planet, while the image of the man who had tried to leave stayed with him. "We probably could've stayed there for a month. But hopefully, we've made at least a little difference."

"I hope so," Shelly said, as the Captain prepared to speak.

"First," he said, "I want to thank you all for the great effort each of you gave this week. I feel that you all went above the call of duty in your performance here.

"Some of you may feel that Starfleet is being unreasonable or uncaring to leave this planet without any official aid, but in the end, that is not for us to judge. We have our duty to perform; even when it seems less important than other things.

"Let's get back out there, my friends. There are other people that need us."

THE END


End file.
